


Reporter and Yakuza

by TheRomanDweller



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, the lord of the rings
Genre: Multi, and business tycoon Thranduil, coworker Aragorn, landlord gimli, savanna cat smaug, thrandolas - Freeform, young aspiring journalist Legolas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRomanDweller/pseuds/TheRomanDweller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon To Be Journalist for the New York Times Legolas Greenleaf interviews billionaire, philanthropist Thranduil Oropherion. And by interview, the author means, stalk, shadow and investigate in secret. Litte did the unexpecting billionaire know that the journalist and writer has some deeper ulterior motives to expose him. To get closer and to find out who Mr. Oropherion really is, Legolas is prepared to do whatever it takes and go to whatever lengths to find the truth.<br/>A bit of investigative journalism into the lives of the rich and powerful. Is Mr. Oropherion really the wolf Wall Street has painted him to be? Manipulative, Cunning, Machiavellian, Sociopathic? Or is he something else entirely?<br/>Will our young and daring investigative journalist and reporter reveal secrets that could rock the business world? And when he discovers the truth the business man has hidden away from the world, could our reporter handle it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Savoy & Mulberry Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mush-thrandolas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mush-thrandolas), [mush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mush/gifts).



> Was Not Proofread or Edited.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas leaves his New York life for a moment to follow his pursuit of investigative journalism to London, England. He discretely shadows his writing subject and is daunted by the process of efficiently investigating someone.

**The Reporter Chapter 1: Savoy & Mulberry Silk**

_There are different types of lies we tell. The lies we tell to others. The white lies. The lies we tell to ourselves. The rationalizations. And the lies we have told and believe in. Delusions._

 

             The New York Times, one of the most prestigious newspapers and newspaper distributors in the country, and for some reporters, the whole world, is having a job opening in their investigative journalism department. Legolas has finished his internship after 3 summers in the ever popular New Yorker Magazine. After graduating from Princeton with a master’s degree in journalism, Legolas decided it was time to work for a major publishing house. He worked for a while at the George Allan & Unwin publishing House in England after graduating. This stint has landed him a post as a journalist in the New Yorker after working as an editor with many crime thriller novels.

“In order for you to get a job interview, or even be considered to work in the New York Times, you have to have the greatest investigative piece of the year. Mainly, something that would rock the white collar, one percent world. I’m talking about the ever private, secretive, and enigmatic Mr. Oropherion. If you can get a scoop on him, I bet they’d hire you on the spot. And how do you suppose you’d get into the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s elite?” was Aragorn’s very fool-hardy advice to the young and desperate journalist and ex-editor. Legolas simply nodded his head and started thinking about how he'd go about procuring the New York Times job position. But then something changed in him, something unexpected crossed his mind.

“Thranduil is a bit of a recluse. Is very private and no one knows about him. He controls his image very well and only reveals to the public what he wants them to know. He keeps tabs on what the newspapers publish about him. And is very secretive and lives alone,” Aragorn notes, warning his coworker that he would most definitely have a difficult time finding things about Mr. Oropherion, then he adds an rational remark by saying to Legolas that he would be very lucky if he even gets a tiny bit of information about the man.

   
“You know what; you might just have a point there. I'd have to do something radical and write about it. I think it’s about time I do something bold and crazy. Life’s too short to just be writing silly articles for The New Yorker. I don’t want to end up like you, writing not-so-noteworthy articles for the rest of my life. No offense...” was Legolas’ jab at his boss. Aragorn can feel the wheels of Legolas’ mind turning, and he imagines a yellow light bulb flashing above Legolas as he spoke.  
  
Legolas is definitely up to something. Aragorn knew that Legolas did not belong here, at the New Yorker building, he knew right from the start that the young blonde was destined for greater things, and the journalist might just fit right in with the other daring writers who work tirelessly on the field and in war fronts, like Syria, or maybe even Afghanistan. But the most dangerous and deadly place to do one’s investigative reporting is on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, where the 1 percent of the 1 percent dwell.

So as was expected, Legolas gave his 1 week notice to Elrond, the CEO and Chief Editor of The New Yorker. And after the week ended, Legolas quietly and with an uneventful day, packed his office box and cleared his desk. He was ready to grab the bull by the horns and dive in feet first in cold waters infested with sharks, figuratively speaking, to do investigative journalism on high class government officials, big high-ranking bankers, and the Larry Ellison’s of the world.

So Legolas booked an economy class ticket heading straight to London. He smiles at the thought of Thranduil chartering a G5 plane or taking his own private jet, laying back on a reclined leather seat, drinking hot Sake while personal airline flight attendants fulfill his wishes and be at his every beck and call. The young blonde journalist imagines Thranduil going past all airport security and into his very own private hanger filled with jet planes, and helicopter, etc, while the rest of the small common folks suffer through airport security and squeeze into cheap airline seats while kids annoyingly kick the backs of their already uncomfortable seats. The young reporter times his departure and arrivals after finding out Thranduil’s business schedule and plans. Legolas arrived at Cardiff a week after he quit his job. And from the Heathrow Airport, after boarding a 747 passenger jet, he went to Cardiff then to London, buying high tech spy gear and tools for private investigating on his way to London. After getting his priorities in order and after asking Aragorn, his ex co-worker to look after his gray savanna cat, Smaug, and after telling his New York City Landlord Gimli, that he was going to leave the states for London for a week or two, he was ready to do some investigating. Well, to be honest, the investigating consisted of stalking and incognito spying and low-key following of a certain someone.

Legolas felt like a high class private investigator. After booking a hotel suite right next door to the great Mr. Oropherion at the Savoy in London, Legolas did not hesitate to track, follow and shadow his every move. By God, he was going to reveal to the world the real Thranduil to the world. Even if it costs him some jail time due to stalking and other illegal activities he is currently partaking in and will undoubtedly do in the future.

So Legolas sits at the lavish Savoy bar, eyeing Thranduil who is sitting at the edge of the bar on the other side, sighing and currently nursing what looks like a “rusty nail” drink. Long dexterous fingers reach out and hold a drink, as if caressing, or soothing, and Legolas couldn’t help but be drawn in with the simple action. Though Thranduil wasn’t really caressing and soothing anyone, he looked too ethereal who belonged at a museum next to Michelangelo’s ‘David’ Marble Statue. Thranduil’s silver platinum blonde hair fell down on his shoulder. This beautiful creature shouldn’t be drinking alone at a bar looking downcast. The man looked painfully beautiful, if ever there was such a thing. Like an angel among mere mortals, Thranduil stood out, in a good way, like a handsome fairytale king visiting a common dwelling. A very aesthetically pleasing face that could take anyone’s breath away, and feel some heart wrenching longing for someone as immaculate as him. Legolas, after watching too many James Bond films, and after watching Casino Royal about a dozen times, thought that he was going to fit into this high society by acting and dressing like the beloved movie spy.

Legolas orders two dry martinis; having found out, with his cunning late night investigating, or really, asking the old time bartender if he knew what the blonde man sitting far across from him on the left usually ordered or preferred. It took some bribing, after a slip of a couple hundred dollar bills, the old time bartender at the classic English bar relented and told Legolas that the man in the Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke Suit, preferred a dry martini, shaken over ice, with a thin slice of lemon peel. The bartender then made two, handed Legolas one, and the other to Thranduil. As the bartender hands Thranduil the drink, Thranduil is surprised, but then a smile graces his lips, nods at the bartender then looks around, as gracefully as he can, to whom he owe his thanks to. The bartender didn’t say, but all he said was that it came from a young man who appreciated his works. Whatever work it was Thranduil didn’t know, but he sure changed the world at the turn of the 21st century, having founded PayPal, and spear heading SpaceX, then Solar City, then Tesla Motors, he was basically the Iron-Man of the modern world. Well Thranduil couldn’t blame the stranger for buying him his favorite drink, whoever the mysterious stranger was.

The Savoy bar, a British Icon since 1889, was frequented by the likes of Oscar Wilde and some prominent British royal figures. Literally, the home away from home of British royals and monarchs, the place held an unmistaken simple elegance and world power. One expects a few lavish and luxurious amenities here and there. Legolas is grateful for some old-money inheritance from his adopted father, Elu Thingol, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to afford what his currently doing right now, and a journalist’s salary wouldn’t cover even a couple nights’ stay at the Savoy. Legolas sighs in relief after Thranduil graciously accepts the offered drink from the British bartender. He wonders if the last few weeks and the decisions he made during this span of time is logical or rational. The young journalist decides it is well worth it, seeing as if he succeeds in this venture, he may well land the most-coveted, highly sought after job in the New York Times.

The bar is made of Greek marble, and with a curving mahogany lining, it was literally like a scene from an old James bond film. The seats were made of full grain leather, the highest kind of leather a respectable place such as the Savoy could easily procure. The bar shelves were stacked and populated with high end, and very expensive wines and spirits. Boasting a collection of Spirits and alcohols dating back to the 20th century, the wines and cocktails are more than exquisite.  The ceiling holding mini crystal chandeliers, and the room richly decorated with art and things one expects from a royal dwelling. Complete with leather and Victorian chairs, people smoking high-end cigars, alabaster walls, marble floors, and high ceilings. Even high-end call girls can be seen prowling around, discretely propositioning out-of-town businessmen. And business clients and hedge fund managers and business tycoons flocked to the bar at the Savoy hotel, discussing large acquisitions and million dollar deals like it was nothing. The people that frequent the bars sounded like they owned and ran the business sector. One can see that though most of the visitors and guest at the hotel are conducting countless strategic businesses, most sounded nonchalant, casual and mellow about the whole thing, as if they’re on a holiday with friends. And Thranduil, when he does business was no exception.

Legolas felt out of place and frequently fidgeted and tugged and adjusted his new and custom tailored dark blue Burberry suit. If he was going to fit in to this kind of crowd, he might as well dress and look the part.

He stood up, with hands shaking, with a glass of cold water in hand, headed towards Thranduil, covered and disguised with a black Cuban Hat, the likes of Al Capone would wear, to hide Legolas’ striking blonde hair and somewhat conceal a part of his face, the way Cold War Spies used to wear their hats with their trench coats turned up, he pretended to trip and spill the glass of water onto Mr. Oropherion's lap. The sneeky journalist wanted to ruin the older man's suit so that it could end up in dry cleaning and so that he could check the type of suit the business man wears and the type of fabric. The whole act was practiced over and over again in the young journalist’s head. Legolas has already bribed the maid and the dry cleaners beforehand, the people who would pick up and retrieve Thranduil’s ruined suit. Now it's only a matter of time until the ruined suit arrives at the hotel's basement and wash area. With Thranduil’s suit's lower half  of hiscoat and pants completely soaked, he was about to yell at the person who did it, but Legolas was swift and long gone, moving with cat-like reflexes after doing the deed.

The young journalist and reporter wanted to know everything about the man who practically owned the largest corporation and most successful industry in the world. This included going to the laundry and dry cleaning area of the hotel at the hotel’s basement where all the hotel sheets and beddings were also being cleaned. Having met the maid working in housekeeping, Legolas was directed to where Thranduil’s ruined three peace suite was located. And yes, his intriguing article will also include what Thranduil wears, what he eats, etc.

Legolas felt the fabric of the suit, which was hanged on a coat rack, waiting to be dry cleaned like one of the many dozen suits that needed to be dry cleaned at the hotel. He quickly checked the tags. The tag reads Egyptian cotton and satin for the pants and coats, with secret pockets in them. While the white dress shirt, or rather, white button up polo shirt was made of Mulberry Silk. The finest silk and highest grade of silk there is in the world. Legolas was not surprised; he knew Thranduil had a very particular and expensive taste, especially when it came to his clothes. He’s not surprised with the kind of man Thranduil is, that he would wear only the best of the best and dine and drink in exquisite places. Legolas efficiently wrote down in his small handy note pad the details of the clothes he just examined. Afterwards he thanks the maid and the cleaner and made his way back to his suite, with his heart raising, his pulse still at an increase, and clammy hands. He couldn’t believe what he just did. He might have ruined Mr. Oropherion’s night, but he didn’t care, he was prepared to do whatever it takes, and perhaps face all the consequences for his actions, if it ever comes or if he ever gets caught.

 

In a way, the young naive reporter realized that these people he's writing about are on a different level. He wishes he came more prepared when it comes to invading and getting into these people's worlds. He tells himself whatever he finds in this powerful man's world, he'd tell them to the world, whether the truth is damning or revolting. He had thought, with foolishness that it would be easy to understand these powerful and aloof men, but boy, was he taken aback the moment he finished examining the suit of this gentleman. He started to question if he was in over his head or if he was even going in the right direction with this quest. He wanted to know what it was like to be this Thranduil Oropherion. Or did he want to change himself? And become a part of this older man's world? And when he does come to discover and realize who this person really is, will he be accepting, neutral, or indignant? To grasp the concept of this ever elusive and enigmatic man who have had and continues to have a large impact on the economy and society itself, he'd have to dig deeper than what he previously thought necessary. Legolas started questioning his motives, and started questioning if he truly knew himself. Was he obsessed with this individual? What was he truly feeling towards his writing subject? He quickly shakes off these thoughts and doubts and left the hotel's cleaning area and headed up the stairs and towards an elevator to get back to his hotel suite and think all of this over. 

 

When Legolas arrives in his hotel suite, he quickly and hastily unties his dark green tie and heads towards the desk to retrieve his laptop. He sat on the office desk next to the floor to ceiling glass window in his room. He notes that this too, the table, is made of mahogany. There is even a Renoir painting hanging above the desk in his room. Legolas doubts that it’s a reproduction, and deduces it must be genuine. The young reporter recounts all the actions the man he was secretly observing at the Savoy’s main bar. Legolas remembers Mr. Oropherion’s graceful movements, and it seemed to him that every action is a calculated step towards the elegance everyone sees and notices with the businessman. The astute reporter also notes Thranduil’s beauty. He wasn’t classically handsome, he was more than that, he noted while he typed away the facial description of the man in his soon-to-be controversial article. There was something about the older man that was indefinable and transgressive. It seems that Thranduil fit all of Cooper Hewitt’s categories when it came to beauty; Thranduil is surely extravagant, transgressive, emergent, transformative, ethereal, intricate, and definitely elemental. But his beauty and surreal looks held a sadness Legolas notice in the business man’s eyes. A certain longing, or apprehension, it seemed as though every woman that ever sat next to Thranduil that night had politely left or gently excused themselves.

Could the playboy-billionaire-philanthropist persona of Thranduil merely a guise? Legolas asked himself, and typed away some more details of his findings onto his laptop. Legolas also typed down that he had may have seen a kind of longing in his subject’s contemplating and far away gazes. As if the man wishes for something or is waiting for someone that would never arrive. Also, in Legolas’ observation that night, he may perhaps see a glimpse of Thranduil’s true self. As he observes the older man asking his body guard to help out a young girl in her mid 20s, red wavy hair that fell as far down as her thigh,  clearly drunk and have lost a shoe, to get back safely  to her hotel room. The reporter notes this kind and altruistic action of the man. After typing up his finding for his report, Legolas turns in, having divested his coat and tie already; he quickly changed into a more comfortable cotton bathrobe and got ready for sleep. Before Legolas turns in for the night he checks the audio buys and spy cam he has set up in Mr. Oropherion’s room on his laptop. It was creepy, and intrusive, this Legolas knew, but he couldn’t help but be glued on his laptop screen and he witnesses something shocking unfold on the servillance video streaming on his laptop.

 

_Tune in next time as Legolas tries to get closer and infiltrate Thranduil’s household staff. Will violating someone’s privacy be worth the job position, or will our young reporter make a tragic mistake?_

 


	2. I Can't Keep Track of Each Fallen Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas saves Mr. Oropherion amidst the chance of him getting caught investigating and being uncovered.

**Chapter Title: “I Can’t Keep Track of Each Fallen Robin”**

**[[Legolas Saves Someone After An Overdose But Couldn't Explain To The Police How He Knew About The Medical Emergency]]**

_"Is the reality you see the only one? Or could there be others? Can you tell, when everything looks the same as always?_  
_Look around you and what do you see? You find yourself thinking, I've seen this before. Today's just like any other. There's a shy boy who just arrived in [London]. A girl, who seems a little odd and out of place. A boy who's having way too much fun. And a [man] who's just a bit mysterious. You've probably come across people like this yourself. These are all things you've experienced before. Sometimes though...when you least expect it, you'll get a tiny glimpse of another reality seeping into yours. A crack appears in your peaceful life. It throws you off guard... Makes you rethink things. There's a [man] sitting in this [room] who've caught a glimpse of just such a thing. [He] experienced it two days ago when [he] should have died.  
_ _\- Durarara (2010)_

 

Oh what a thing to hear and behold. Both Legolas and Thranduil are held captive by the ever seeking darkness. Both in their own rooms wading in the absence of light. _The author just wants to say it's dark in the rooms._  Legolas’ hotel room is dark as it could be, barely lit. The only sources of lights are the carefully placed pearlescent oyster shell night lights in his room and the bright beckoning screen of his laptop. But there it was, the unmistakable figure of the man he is investigating. The scene before his surveillance video streaming live on his laptop revealed not a peaceful person at rest, and not someone relaxing at the end of a hard day's work, but a mewling, gasping and coughing dying beast, desperate for air. There is no words to describe the final moments of someone’s impending doom. The moment of crisis indescribable to someone who has not experienced a moment such as this. Legolas covered his mouth, shocked, bewildered, while he combed through his hair with his fingers. Brushing the golden locks back towards his shoulders and wringing his hands like a wet towel after it left his shocked face and once gaping mouth. He's not equipped to respond to a medical emergency such as this. He asks himself what a rational man should do.

It could have been anyone. It could have been anything. But tonight, the impertinent Universe has chosen to disturb Legolas’ evening of quiet surveillance. Oh boy, is it quite a disturbance. The large assortment of drugs laid bare on the glass coffee table. The empty bottles of port and chardonnay laid out every which way on the older man’s hotel floor. The flickering of the static of a television with no particular show streaming on it, one of the only reminders that the man he was spying on was indeed human and partook in normal things like watching the telly. The room service plate uneaten for the night. The suit and tie scattered on the hotel hallway. And the man to blame it all on, laid out on the satin covered bed, foaming at the mouth, and what looked like the start of a violent convulsion. Surely, Legolas must have mistaken and placed the camera bugs in the right room. Is this even the same Thranduil Oropherion. He checked his inner voice to see if he is indeed seeing reality and not hallucinating or tripping. The room did not look like the place of a well respected world leader and innovator. It looked like a hole in the wall of a drug den.

Is all the reporter seeing a wild delusion of the mind, or a twisted nightmare, or a figment of his stressed-out and sleep deprived brain? Surely just a mirage, or simply an unwitting hallucination? Maybe there is an undiscovered infestation of mold that causes hallucination in his room. Is the impressionable journalist unstable? But there it is, clear as day… Human frailty, wrapped in a white cotton Tory Burch bathrobe. Legolas expected, when he went into the investigation that he is going to see some pretty fucked up stuff. When he started digging up information about his subject he expected that he might not find anything out of the ordinary with the older man. But the contrary is true.

His naivety showed. Even going as far as thinking and expecting the billionaire to live a pretty normal and humdrum life. He rationalized to himself, that yes, most of the time many of the self-made rich, live their life in complete and utter normalcy after all. But can we really say that Mr. Oropherion is a completely self-made man? Legolas heard rumors that right after Thranduil’s father’s death, he had inherited the clean-energy industry fortune and had made him one of the youngest billionaires in the island of Manhattan.

_Don’t get me wrong, the author of this work is super into meta-fiction, and anything meta. She just wants you to know that yes, our reporter is in a pinch. In a great bind. Poor leggy right? When will he ever find happiness? Where's the damn fluff? But this is not that kind of fanfic._

So now Legolas has two choices, quit this investigative journalism and head home and forget he ever saw someone OD and leave Mr. Thranduil to his own devices OR rush to Thranduil’s hotel room, try his luck on his new lock picking skills he learned from some shady Russian spy tech store, he's not even sure is legit, then call the paramedics after getting a handle of the situation. Legolas chose the latter, grabbed his spy tech gear backpack with lock picking tools, his phone, key card, etc then rushed to the room right across him to Thranduil’s room. The standard old hotel door didn't need to get it’s lock picked, Legolas remembered he requested an extra key card from one of an underpaid, overworked hotel employee eager to break the rules and keep quiet. It is a not a very busy night indeed, so not much people went through the hallways of the very top rooms or presidential suites. This is beneficial for our rookie reporter.

Legolas hurriedly rummaged through his tech bag, found the door key card, slid it in the door slot, opened the door, went in, well ran straight in to be exact, headed straight to the suite’s bedroom, hopped on the bed, with gusto, prepared to prevent Mr. Oropherion from choking on his own vomit, Legolas got off the bed after turning the older blond to his side, hopped off the bed, went straight to the on-suite bathroom, grabbed a wash cloth, ran it under the tap, rushed back towards the almost dying man, then shoved the wash cloth in Thranduil’s mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue off and choking from that while he seized. Then all of a sudden, as if a break from the storm, the body turned languid, relaxed, then stopped seizing. Legolas sighed, his heart racing so much, his chest tight, and his mind going and racing at 100 miles per hour. He remembered he left his tech bag outside, on the hallway, and yes he has left the door wide open. Could this night get any more hectic? When he returned to retrieve his bag in the hallway, it wasn't there anymore. Damn, his phone was in there, and his own door key to his own hotel room was also in it too! No time to go to "Lost & Found". He didn't have a choice but to use the phone in Thranduil’s room. So he did, he picked up the phone and called 911, Oh shit, he got a “couldn't-direct-call”, oh that’s right, he remembered he was in London, and tried 112 then 999. _When you're in a panic, you tend to forget small things like that._

A heavy breathing police officer picked up the phone, and with a very heavy Northern accent asked what the emergency was about.

“Hi, I’d like to report an Emergency. At the Savoy Hotel, London. There has been a drug overdose. Oh wait, it might be anaphylactic shock, or possible poisoning. I’m not sure. Male. Mid 40s I think. He’s breathing, but he seized a couple minutes before. We need the paramedics right away…” Legolas remembered to add other reasons for the medical emergencies other than drug overdose. Then Legolas placed the telephone on the oak desk, not hanging up the phone, merely leaving the police officer to stay on the line in case something happens. After receiving confirmation of help from the helpful police officer, Legolas rushed to be by Thranduil’s side, just in case he started vomiting again. He sat there, on one of the Victorian chairs next to the wall adjacent to the large bed and he waited for the Ambulance, Police and Paramedics to arrive.

The fat, heavy breathing, unmotivated desk cop gave Legolas details of how long the paramedics, ambulance and police will take to get there. And some basic medical basics, resuscitation details, and other medically relevant tips for someone handling someone who's OD'd.

Then Legolas, having calmed down significantly realized what is wrong with the very picture he is seeing. The Room was in utter chaos. It takes a certain kind of madness to have this much chaos in one room. But one thing stood out. The lines of cocaine chopped up on the glass table, the rolled up currencies, and the booze. The black books. _For those of you who don't know it's a menu for high end call girls._ He hurried, scooped up all the cocaine, ketamine, and all the prescription drugs ranging from Promethazine, to Trazodone, to Diazepam, and scooped them all up with the help of some paper towels, news papers, and tissues and started dumping them in the on-suite bathroom toilet, then he proceeded to check Thranduil’s bags, and closets, drawers, under the bed, and anywhere the man may have got drugs hidden in. Even checking his spare coats, and the umbrella rack, and inside the oven and microwave, all the while wiping almost all the surfaces he could think of which had the high probability of being used and which traces of drugs and powder could be found.

He then started bringing all the booze and alcohol and liquor back to his room right across the hallway, because he didn't know where else to put them or hide them. To be exact, he went out to the terrace balcony and tossed the empty bottles onto his own hotel balcony, making sure not to drop any of the battles from the gaps between the two terraces. He of course through a comforter onto the other balcony right before throwing the bottles, to soften the fall. Then he started double checking again, every nook and cranny of the hotel room, making sure to check back on Thranduil and his condition for every of couple minutes.  
  
Where was Thranduil's body guards and security in all of this? Legolas thought to himself.

It wasn't the waiting that brought fear into Legolas' view, it is the realization that this new reality, he is now faced with, is bringing about some  unexpected and unforeseen change. And it scared him that the naive reality he used to live in was false, and the possible changes he is about to face now had an impact not only on a man's life but also to his. And the scariest change of all, that he has to deal with, is the arrival of a new perspective. New characters and new pawns and chess pieces on a game he's unsure of who's in control. And this perspective scared the hell out of him. Gaining perspective had him questioning his motives and the reasons why he was doing all this investigating in the first place. And what then? When the media and the the tabloids knew of the real Thranduil, would they destroy an innocent man's life? Who is clearly in pain and suffering a loss.

As Legolas found Thranduil's wallet, he noticed an old tattered picture of a woman in the transparent plastic slot in the middle of the wallet. It dawned on him why such a successful man would do such awful things. It was to numb the pain of grief and immeasurable loss. The loss of a loved one. The loss of happiness and hope. And little by little, our reporter begins to understand what kind of world Mr. Oropherion lives in. And how there was no place, an immature, young adult like him belonged in. As a writer and journalist, two words came to Legolas' mind while he waited, and it had repeated itself in his head over and over again. Human Frailty. His. The poor bastard he just saved. And the whole damn humanity. Human Frailty, splattered everywhere, like the metaphorical piss stains on the world's walls.

It wasn't until the paramedics arrived that Legolas began fearing for his life. Sooner or later the doctors and nurses in the hospital would surely notice. The large tattoo on Thranduil's back. He caught a glimpse of it when his bathrobe slipped while the young reporter was assisting the older man when he was seizing. Legolas really did get himself in with the wrong crowd this time. The reporter swallowed a lump that grew in his throat and tried to calm himself. Mr. Oropherion was Yakuza. What will happen to the paramedics who saw? And will Thranduil dispose of the doctors and first responders who handled his body? Will he bring in his own doctors, who specialized in the underground. Will Legolas disappear without a trace? Like they do in movies? And how high up was Thranduil in the Yakuza's hierarchy?

He is walking, metaphorically, on the edge of the sharpest blade. He can hear Thranduil's body guards coming up the stairs. There might be more riding the elevator. The ominous, always vigilant, children of the shadows. He solemnly thinks to himself, his thoughts consisting of:  _Oh Great, They'll Get Here Before The Cops Do & They'll Skin Him Alive. _He can't climb and hop between balconies to get back to his own hotel room because the gap is too wide for him to make the jump. And he can't go down and use the stairs or elevators now. He wonders which are the assassins and which ones are the clean up crew. He had thought the past few days of his life was exactly the same. The same routine. The same hassle from his New Yorker Magazine bosses. The same asinine publishers breathing down his neck. Now he faced a new reality. How he missed his boring life and wished his uneventful days back. The movers and shakers of life were not the good, honest men of the world school has taught him were. It is the deep underground that keeps everything in motion. The decides the fates of the oblivious and the ignorants. The movements in the shadows and the secret events of the hidden world affecting the lives of normal everyday citizens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the mature content your mother warned you about. Sit back, relax, be a part of this crime thriller no one asked for.
> 
> God I Want To Quit This Fandom


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